I am a Canadian, and this week I will be traveling to take part in the Global March to Gaza through Egypt. This march is an independent and peaceful endeavor by activists from over 50 countries, aimed to negotiate the opening of the Rafah terminal for delivery of aid to Gaza.
On June 13, we’ll travel by bus to Al Arish, where the 48 km march will begin. Over the course of two to three days, we’ll walk in solidarity toward Rafah. Upon arrival at Rafah, we’ll camp for three days before returning to Cairo on June 19, assuming everything goes according to the plan.
I am aware of the risks this journey entails, but as a father of three, I can’t ignore my conscience in the face of Israeli actions, which reputable human rights organizations like Amnesty International have denounced as genocide.
When I learned about this march, it felt like a calling I couldn’t refuse. For me, joining it goes beyond delivering aid — it’s about drawing the world’s attention to the loss of innocent lives and to the deep, ongoing suffering of humanity.
My heart breaks every time I witness the unimaginable suffering of the children in Gaza. For them, solace and comfort is an impossible luxury. Their lullabies are the wails of ambulance sirens, and their bedtime stories are whispered by the ceaseless hum of drones hovering above.
Among the many heart-wrenching stories of Gaza’s children, some continue to linger painfully in my memory. Hind, Reem, Saly, and thousands of other little souls will never grow up — some taken by Israeli bombs and missiles, others by bullets piercing through their little bodies.
Five-year-old Hind Rajab sobbed and kept begging to a Red Cross dispatcher as the bodies of her family laid lifeless in their car, which had been shot all over. As an Israeli tank closed in, she said, “I’m so scared, please come. Come get me. Please, come get me.” Her body was found 12 days later in a car that had been shot 300 times, alongside her cousins, her uncle and her aunt.
Small strides and playful laughter were wiped away by merciless brutality when Reem was killed in an Israeli airstrike, along with her five-year-old brother while sleeping in their bed. The day before, the two children begged their grandfather to take them outside to play and he refused because it was too dangerous, given the risk of air strikes.
The video of three-year-old Reem’s grandfather — who was also later killed in a separate air strike — bidding her a heart-wrenching farewell as he clutched her lifeless body and called her “the soul of my soul,” went viral all over the world.
Five year old Saly was killed last year along with her family by a deadly bomb dropped on them from the sky. The image of her aunt cradling her body wrapped in a white sheet still remains vivid in my memory.
More recently, an Israeli airstrike on the home of Dr. Alaa al-Najjar turned her world to ash in an instant — killing nine of her ten children and her husband. A pediatrician who had dedicated her life to saving children found her own taken away from her in a matter of moments. Her eldest child was 12 years old and the youngest was seven months.
Few tragedies could speak more powerfully to the unbearable pain than hers.
We risk normalizing a state of inhumanity by allowing these stories to slip unnoticed into the annals of an indifferent history. Through this march, I wish to convey a message that compassion is not constrained by borders and humanity is not a luxury reserved only for a privileged few.
My children are no more important than the children of Gaza. My home, my safety, and my comfort do not outweigh the fundamental principles of humanity and justice. Every child in Gaza has a story that must be told, every told story is a melody woven from shattered dreams, of which every tune is a flame of grief that refuses to die, demanding that humanity triumph over barbarism and injustice.
Thousands of tons of food and life-saving supplies remain stuck at the Rafah border, while children in Gaza continue to suffer from severe hunger. Here at home, segments of the Canadian public have marched in the streets, signed petitions, and urged our government to move beyond empty words and take real, tangible action. Yet, despite the urgency, the response from the government remains hollow.
Canada’s continued complicity in this genocide is both shameful and deadly. Despite mounting evidence of Israeli crimes, the Canadian government has not taken meaningful action. It has failed to impose trade or economic sanctions on Israel, continues to uphold the Canada-Israel Free Trade Agreement (CIFTA), and has offered nothing more than half-hearted diplomatic statements while children starve and civilians die.
Even when officials speak out, the response is dangerously inadequate. Foreign Minister Anita Anand recently criticized Israel for using aid as a “political tool” — a deeply troubling understatement. Siege is not a political tactic, it is a crime against humanity. More than 200 Palestinians have already been killed recently while attempting to retrieve food from Israeli-controlled aid centres.
Canada has also failed to initiate investigations into or meaningful actions against Canadians involved in the Israeli military campaign in Gaza. Moreover, it has failed to enforce a two-way arms embargo on Israel. By continuing arms trade and failing to hold Israel accountable, Canada is enabling the genocide.
Thousands of children in Gaza are facing severe malnutrition, and some have already died. That ordinary people like me must take extra-ordinary steps to demand basic humanity and justice is a tragedy in itself that reflects the remarkable failure of our government to use diplomatic, political and economic tools available to it to bring an end to this suffering. It depicts a collapse of our morals and basic human values.
